


eyes on fire/spine is ablaze

by waterleveldropping



Series: jonelias week 2020 [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drugged Sex, M/M, Marijuana usage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, Somnophilia, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterleveldropping/pseuds/waterleveldropping
Summary: The Spiral was good for one thing, if nothing else: centuries ago the twisted-up freaks had invented one of the strongest strains of pot:helix haze, they’d dubbed it, and it was unlike anything else Elias had ever tried.---Elias has built up a tolerance. Jon... hasn't.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: jonelias week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860007
Comments: 9
Kudos: 122
Collections: Jonelias Week 2020





	eyes on fire/spine is ablaze

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "altered mental states"
> 
> heed the tags, and click [more notes] for more in-depth content warnings (spoilers), and dont read if you feel unsafe with any of the content.

Blue, pink, green, orange. The multi-colored smoke intertwined itself and mingled in all kinds of colors. Pastel yellows, bright reds, rich purples. A vivid cloud floated up towards the ceiling of Elias’s office as he breathed out with practiced precision through his nose and parted lips. 

The Spiral was good for one thing, if nothing else: centuries ago the twisted-up freaks had invented one of the strongest strains of pot: _helix haze,_ they’d dubbed it, and it was unlike anything else Elias had ever tried. Rare as it was to get his hands on, he had gone to great lengths in the past to obtain some. Everything short of throwing himself into an eye-searing hallway for the stuff. 

A week ago, however, someone turned a decently sized bag of multi-colored buds into artefact storage.

Elias wasn’t a stranger to typical weed strains. He’d done about every drug possible in the time he’d been around, but this particular brand was absolutely one of his favorites. Every good thing from psychedelics rolled into a spliff and made smokeable. Leave it to the Distortion to come up with something so unassuming yet so potent. Cut the time it takes hallucinogens to kick in while leaving all the effects, and you’re left with a very strong argument for keeping the gaudy weirdos around-- if only for the drugs. 

After centuries of smoking the stuff, Elias was used to how hard it hit, much harder than pretty much anything else he’d tried. He recalled the first few times he’d tried it, back in the 1870’s, when he was trying to find a substitute for opioids-- he’d taken one pull of _helix_ and all but passed out. Acclimation had taken a couple decades, but the feeling was well worth the price. Something to completely take you out of your mind, focus only on the colors blurring at the edges of your vision, and the fractals that danced in front of you.

If there was anyone in the institute who needed something like that, it was Jon. 

Elias’s head archivist worried so much nowadays, too much for his own good. Not that Elias had ever prioritized Jon’s wellbeing, but still. Some time away from his overworked brain would do him some good. 

So he’d invited his Archivist to his office, towards the end of the day. Elias stared at the ceiling and watched as Jon reminded Tim for the fourth time today of the case that needed following up on before the weekend, and scolded Martin for not filing the next box of statements according to his new system. Very stressed, really. He’d see to that before it interfered with any upcoming plans. 

Before long, there was a tentative knock on Elias’s office door. Elias called for Jon to enter and the smaller man stepped in slowly, always showing so much decorum around Elias. Jon’s hair had gotten longer, his overgrown bangs falling into his face and making Elias resist the urge to push the unruly strands of black and grey behind his ear. 

“If you’d close the door behind you, please.” Elias said, taking a seat behind his desk. He motioned for Jon to take a seat on the opposite side. His Archivist was always so hesitant around him, and not even for the reasons he should be yet. It was a pleasant surprise. 

“You wanted to see me?” Jon asked.

“Yes, it’s regarding some concerning comments I’ve received from around the office,” Elias replied, leaning back and folding his hands on his stomach.“You aren’t overstepping your boundaries, are you Jon?” 

The man across from him stilled immediately. “I’ve only been doing what is necessary to keep myself safe, after the… Prentiss incident last month.” 

“Protecting yourself does not mean jeopardizing the peace of mind of your employees, Jonathan,” Elias’s voice thinned a bit, sounding a bit like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “Let me remind you what your job entails, as it seems you’ve forgotten. You are here to compile information and take statements. Not obsessively keep tabs on your employees outside of work hours.” Elias says. He knows that the more he pushes Jon and assures him that everything is running just fine, the more he’ll give in to that burning desire to know-- exactly where Elias wants him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon replies, gaze flicking down. “I hadn’t noticed I’d let it get so… out of hand. I’ll be more aware from now on.” His voice shakes slightly on the last syllable, and if Elias didn’t know better (which he did), he’d have said Jon was about to come apart at the poorly put-together seams. Well. He has just the remedy for that. 

“Are you feeling exceedingly stressed these days, Jon?” Elias asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the old wooden desk. 

“After the Prentiss attack, I would say we all are,” Jon responds with a shrug. He looks around the office, eyes landing on the one of the large bookshelves next to Elias’s desk. “But I realize now my conduct has been unprofessional and unbefitting of Head Archivist, and I apologize.” 

Elias holds Jon’s gaze for a few seconds before replying, “Have you ever tried alternative methods of calming your nerves?”

Jon’s eyes flick back to Elias’s, and he stares, confused. “Like… meditation?” 

Oh, he _is_ adorable. 

Elias pushes his chair back and ducks to look through one of the many drawers on his desk. Jon watches curiously, still at a loss for where this is going. With a flick of his wrist, Elias produces a small, innocuous tin. 

Jon is about to open his mouth when Elias opens the lid of the tin, and reveals the vibrant buds inside. 

“...You’re serious?” Jon says after a pause. “Hash, actually?” He can’t keep the scoff of disbelief out of his voice. 

“Yes, Jon. You’d be surprised how far a good strain can go for calming your nerves.”

“Isn’t this a bit…” Jon trails off.

“A bit what? Unprofessional?” Elias’s hands roll the spliff neatly. “Who says?”

“I dunno, HR?” Jon snorts, his apprehension poorly hidden. He’s not exactly a prude, but also not exactly about to light up with his boss, in his office, during work hours.

“You’re worrying too much again.” Elias says, his tongue darting out to lick the paper. Jon’s eyes flick to the papers on his desk. “I am the Institute head, after all.”

“I don’t really…” Jon swallows dryly. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable doing this at work,” he settles on. That’s a suitable reason to refuse drugs, right? 

“You smoke cigarettes in your office from time to time, how is this any different?” Elias asks, patting the spliff closed. 

Jon stutters. “That’s, uh--” he tries, obviously caught. It’s incredibly endearing, the way his archivist thinks he can hide anything from him.

“It’s alright, Jon.” Elias says, pretending to rummage for his lighter. “This will help, I promise. Do you have a light?” he asks, knowing of the one Jon keeps in his back pocket.

“Ah, yes,” Jon reaches back and places the webbed lighter in Elias’s palm. “I’m really not too sure about this, though.” he adds, still thinking this is optional. Still trying his best to politely decline.

“Relax, it will be fine.” Elias smiles. “You’ve really never smoked?” 

Jon hasn’t. Georgie had offered to share her stash back in college, and he’d almost tried it once or twice at a party, but the smell always turned him off of it. “Nothing other than cigarettes.” he replies.

“This is the exact same. Here,” he reaches out the hand holding the joint to Jon. He doesn’t take it. “Come on, Jon. Don’t be shy.” 

Jon’s pauses for another moment, before he takes it from Elias, holds it for a second before placing it between his fingers. 

“Go on then. I’ll even light it for you.” Elias motions. Jon gives a nervous smile and leans forward in his chair, but still hesitates, the joint a few centimeters from his mouth. His eyes flick up to Elias’s, unsure. 

“You’ll feel better. Elias reassures him, and clicks the lighter on. 

Jon lets Elias light the joint, closing his eyes and imagining it’s just another cigarette. But the stifling air of the underground office is a far cry from the cold air of the London streets he usually takes smoke breaks on. He’s about to take a short breath in when the plume of smoke off the end of the spliff stops him. 

Its multicolored, bright, and swirling impossibly in front of him. Nothing like anything Jon has seen before, that’s for sure. 

“What…” Jon asks, pulling back slightly as the smoke spirals from between his fingers. “This _is_ hash, right?” He squints at the joint, incredulous. If it is, it certainly does not smell like it, the scents filling the room are light and vaguely fruity, not the usual odor of skunk.

Placing his hand over Jon’s own, Elias brings the joint back up to Jon’s mouth. “An imported strain,” he says. “You can’t use just anything, you have to be sure the stuff is quality.” 

Jon doesn’t know about quality, but the smell alone is making him feel a bit light-headed. It’s not a bad feeling, all things considered. Certainly not like the marlboros he usually smokes. He brings the thing back up to his lips, and takes a short pull, watching as a smile spreads across Elias’s face when he does. 

The smoke fills his lungs, and, in spite of it’s colorful appearance, doesn’t feel unlike cigarette smoke, at first. Jon allows it to sit and occupy his chest for a few seconds, then he breathes out. 

When he first tried cigarettes, he was barely nineteen, and would always cough on the exhale. But after almost ten years of poisoning his lungs with the things, he would say he is more than accustomed to the feeling of breathing out smoke. This particular smoke, however, is nothing like that. The burning in his throat starts almost immediately, and he pitches forward, coughing and heaving for air. 

Tears bloom at the corners of his eyes, and the office blurs in and out of focus as Jon tries to get the air into his stinging lungs. He thinks he hears Elias stand and come over to him, and feels the stern pats on his back. After a minute, the coughing eases up and Jon pushes his glasses up onto his head to wipe his wet eyes. Blinking a few times, he tries to get the room to come back into focus.

It doesn’t.

Colors swim all over his vision, and it isn’t just the smoke still floating lightly in the air. It’s like someone has put a filter over his eyes, and no amount of blinking or rubbing will turn the world back to normal. Furniture shifts from it’s normal color to bright, neon shades, and the walls warp and distort from their traditionally stationary positions, and Jon begins to panic slightly. 

“Jon, look at me.” Elias’s hands are on his face, turning Jon’s head to stare at where his boss is kneeled next to the chair Jon sits in. “You’re working yourself up, which isn’t going to help anyone. Just breathe.” 

Jon tries to focus his gaze on Elias’s face but the features blur and mesh together until all he can concentrate on is Elias's grey-blue eyes, the only thing that remains perfectly in-focus. “Is this normal?” he asks, trying his best to even his breathing. 

“It’s your first time trying it, you’re sure to feel different.” Elias reassures. He picks up the joint from the ashtray and takes a drag, much more practiced and coordinated than Jon had been. “The sooner you steady yourself, the better you’ll feel. Give it some time to do its job.” he breathes out a colorful puff of smoke to the side.

“Elias,” Jon croaks. “Everything looks so different, there’s too many colors, and--”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Elias smiles, genuine. “Give in to it, Jon. Let it wipe your mind clean.” 

Jon groans pathetically, his head still spinning. All of his limbs feel too light and too heavy at the same time. Elias watches as Jon teeters slightly to the side of the chair, and grabs him before he can hurt himself. It is true that the strain would hit Jon this hard, he’s never smoked hash before in general, let alone the supernatural variety. Still, the Watcher wouldn’t completely pass up the opportunity to let him experience his very first drug trip. 

And, oh, it really is so lovely to watch Jon’s tightly-strung demeanor unravel in this way, letting the loose threads spool around Elias’s own ringed fingers. Nothing can compare to the feeling of watching Jon descend into so much confusion that Elias is his only anchor to reality is… satisfying to say the least. 

The high is hitting him now too, and Elias can’t help himself-- he reaches forward to push Jon’s loose bangs behind his ear, letting his hand drift to cup Jon’s warm cheek. “How are you feeling, Jonathan?” he asks through a gentle smile. 

“Dizzy. L-Lots of colors-- bright.” Jon slurs, half lidded eyes struggling to find Elias’s own. 

Elias gives him a reassuring pat on the cheek before standing. Jon looks delightfully tiny here, staring up at Elias from the office chair, vision swimming. “I think you need another hit,” he says, reaching the spliff back towards Jon. 

The other man shakes his head languidly. “N-no. Don’t want one. Too much.” he drawls, protesting as much as he can in his incapitated state. It’s too bad, it really isn’t Jon’s decision to make. 

“It’ll feel even better,” Elias assures him. “Can you stand?”

With some help from Elias, Jon does. The height Elias has on him comes in handy, as Jon’s knees knock almost immediately as Elias pulls him up. Firm hands hook up under Jon’s arms to support him as he gains his balance and general sense of space. Jon leans his weight onto Elias, fingers fisting in the other’s neatly-pressed work shirt. 

“Are you able to take another drag by yourself,” Elias offers the joint again. “Or would you like my help?”

“Your help,” Jon mumbles. “Please,” he adds quickly. 

Elias’s mouth twists into a grin. “Breathe out as much as you can,” he instructs Jon, and takes a long drag from the spliff himself, not taking his eyes off the other. Jon’s exhale is shaky and labored, like he’s having to focus all his attention on breathing to even do it. 

Elias fills his lungs with the smoke, then tilts Jon’s head up to meet his. Both his hands cupping Jon’s warm face, Elias takes a second to enjoy the dazed expression and flushed cheeks. A hint of understanding, and therefore alarm passes over Jon’s face as his fogged mind catches up, and then Elias presses their lips together. 

Elias parts his lips, and lets the smoke flow into Jon’s waiting mouth. Jon drinks up the smoke eagerly, and when the coughing starts anew, Elias doesn’t take his lips off Jon’s. The whimpers and squeaks that Jon makes when their kiss impedes his breathing are wonderful, spurring Elias on until Jon’s entire body weight is against him, clutching his shoulders as if Elias is his only support to keep from drowning. 

“How did that feel?” Elias asks when he wrenches his lips away from Jon’s still holding the smaller man’s face in his hands. 

It’s a good thing Elias is ready for it, because when Jon all but collapses against him with a groan, his entire body weight is suddenly Elias’s to look after. In response, Elias all but picks Jon up to carry him over to the futon on the other side of the room. 

Jon is placed down on the soft couch gently, and immediately feels like he’s sinking into the cushions. He closes his eyes slightly, and it’s like Elias’s small office could go on forever, that the walls are so much further apart than they were before, all twisting in garish hues. It takes him a few seconds to notice Elias is kissing him again, and more, that he’s almost entirely on top of Jon.

When he figures out where his limbs are and how to move them, Jon places a hand to Elias’s chest in as firm a way he can muster and makes a noise of protest into Elias’s mouth. Elias pulls back, if only slightly. 

“Mmm..” Jon moans. “This doesn’t feel right,” he manages to say, mostly into Elias’s mouth. 

“But you’re enjoying it so much,” Elias responds, undoing one of the buttons on Jon’s collared shirt. “Look at the way you’re melting into me, Jon. Doesn’t it feel good?” 

Jon does feel good-- amazing, in fact. The initial anxiety that came with the first hit has more or less dissipated, and now all he can see is pastel hues clouding his vision and all he can feel is the spots of his body where Elias is touching him. Those may as well be the only parts of his body that still exist.

Elias brings a leg to push lightly between Jon’s thighs to enunciate this point. Jon reacts immediately, a soft ‘oh’ escaping his throat, and morphing into a whine as he rocks his hips into Elias’s pressed trouser leg. 

“Oh, Jon, just look at the way you’re rutting against my leg. Of course you want this. Let me help you relax.” Elias says, and Jon can barely hear him over the sound of his own heavy breath. 

Jon’s head spins, because the feeling of rubbing himself on Elias’s leg feels so extraordinarily _good_ , like nothing he’s felt before. Is it normal for something so basic to feel so intoxicating? He wants to get drunk on this feeling.

The ceiling behind Elias’s head looks as if it is a mix of swirling wet paint on a palette. 

Elias’s hands slide up Jon’s sweater, under his collared shirt and onto his hot skin. He trails fingers over Jon’s stomach, and higher, until Jon gathers his thoughts coherently enough to protest. 

“Not there-- please,” he says, Elias’s hands resting on the bottom hem of his binder. 

“Alright.” Elias says, and pulls his hands back out, lets them rest on either side of Jon’s head. “Would you like to keep rubbing against my thigh like a rabbit in heat then?” The phrase only serves to spur Jon on, and he whimpers and squeezes his legs around Elias’s thigh. 

Elias continues kissing him, hot and open-mouthed. The air of the room still has the same light scent and Jon’s eyes are pink and glassy when he opens them. Every feeling is too much and it’s all just enough for Jon in this state. He feels so extremely at peace, like there is nothing occupying his mind but the warm buzz and the all-encompassing fog. 

Eventually, Jon’s tight hold on Elias’s shirt loosens, and his movements still. Elias knows he hasn’t come, it’s more of a slowing of everything until a stop, rather than a frantic attempt to get more. Jon’s eyes flutter to a close, and his breathing steadies from the frantic gulps that occupied the quiet room just a minute ago. 

Well, that was something Elias should very well have expected. His own first time with the strain was close to the same. That said, there was no reason to stop now, not when they’ve gone this far already. It’d be nothing more than a waste, and Elias doesn’t particularly care for profligacy. He pats Jon’s cheek a quick few times to check if he really is asleep. Jon doesn’t stir, so Elias sits up, and begins to undo the button on Jon’s pants. 

Jon’s boxers are wet through, Elias finds when he strips Jon of his trousers. They’re grey, and an adorable little happy trail of dark hair leads down from his navel to below his waistband. Elias hooks his thumbs under it and slips it off, leaving Jon bare from the waist down, still sound asleep. 

His Archivist rests so peacefully now, and Elias knows it's impregnable and fearless, and devoid of the suggestion of dreams. Jon’s mind is completely blank, and Elias is going to make sure he stays that way while he takes what he wants, and what Jon so badly needs. 

He pushes Jon’s sweater up past his chest, and looks blankly down at the binder covering his upper body. He knows (firsthand now), how sensitive Jon is about his breasts, and he runs a finger along the hem again. When he casts his gaze up, Jon’s eyes are shut and his breathing is even.

It’s a slow process given how tight it is, but Elias eventually moves Jon’s binder up to expose his chest. Jon may not agree with Elias touching them, but Jon is asleep right now, and Elias is awake. Jon’s breasts are small, perky. Elias tentatively brushes the pad of his thumb over a nipple. Even asleep, Jon stirs a bit at that. Knowing Jon won’t wake, Elias pushes further, squeezing firmly at Jon’s chest. 

A whimper escapes Jon’s parted lips. He’s still asleep, but breathing heavier now, and Elias rubs a nipple between his fingers roughly, watching Jon’s face all the while. His dark brows furrow for just a second when Elias flicks a nub under his finger. The moan he lets out is the loudest he has so far, but is still barely above a whisper. 

Jon’s legs are still spread, his underwear hanging off one leg. Elias undoes his own pants and slides them down halfway down his thighs, pulling Jon to himself a bit more roughly than he probably should for someone asleep, but Jon’s effectively knocked out at this point with how strong the strain was and how much of it he inhaled. 

Elias’s doesn’t waste time, and his fingers press into Jon’s cunt slowly, finding him already sufficiently wet. A few mutters leave Jon’s lip as Elias works him open. He cants Jon’s hips up, making sure Jon’s crotch is flush with Elias’s own, and lets his cock rub against Jon’s clit a few times, spreading the slick he pumps himself. 

He enters Jon slowly, savoring every inch he pushes into the unconscious archivist until he’s buried to the hilt inside Jon’s cunt. Elias takes a second, adjusts, watches the small movements on Jon’s sleeping face, and then starts to move. 

Jon feels so _wonderful._ Pliant and soft under Elias, his breath even and peaceful as Elias quickens his pace slightly, leans fully over Jon and runs a hand through his hair. Jon still clenches down around Elias’s cock from time to time, despite the rest of his muscles being relaxed and loose. 

Elias croons his neck down to kiss him, and pushes a tongue past Jon’s teeth, his mouth still as Elias prods into it, kisses Jon’s tongue. He tastes like cheap tea and smoke, and it’s downright intoxicating. He bites down on Jon’s bottom lip, and when Jon stays just as asleep as he has been, Elias’s cock twitches inside, and he lets out a small groan into Jon’s mouth.

To have something so magnificent at his mercy really is a lot to take in, even for Elias, and especially in his still-inebriated state. The buzz in the back of his head allows him to only focus on the sight of Jon, limp and beautiful under him, and he makes sure to view him from all angles, just to sear the image into his memory. 

He ghosts fingers down Jon’s warm body, over the curve of his ribs and the soft dark flesh of his stomach. Even asleep, Jon shudders, and his stomach dips lower under Elias’s touch. When Elias's hand reaches between Jon’s legs, he swipes a thumb experimentally over Jon’s swollen clit. The reaction is immediate, and the feeling of Jon tightening around him is so much all over again. 

Elias presses against Jon’s clit a second time, then falls into rhythm, rubbing firm circles into him, the sporadic tightness bringing him closer, the knowledge that it’s all unconscious nearly pushing him over the edge. 

A shudder runs through Elias’s frame and he buries his face into the crook of Jon’s neck, his movements are erratic and hurried. Almost without thinking, he bites down on the hot skin of Jon’s shoulder, barely muffling a moan. 

In response, a groan comes from under Elias, and he slows. Hoisting himself up on his palms reveals Jon slowly blinking still-pink eyes open. 

Ah. He went a bit too far.

“Elias?” Jon groans, voice groggy with sleep. 

Elias makes no movement, only stares down at Jon passively. The man under him tries to shift, but quickly discovers that he is unable to. Elias is still half pressed into him, and when Elias sits back on his heels ever so slightly, Jon’s eyes widen at the sight of where they’re joined.

“You’re--” Jon swallows, brain still struggling to form thoughts. ”Inside me,” he breathes. 

Everything feels so foggy. Elias doesn’t respond, only stares and pushes himself further into Jon, who gasps and writhes under the feeling of being so full. 

“How do you feel?” Elias asks, setting a slow, steady pace as he starts to fuck into Jon again. 

Jon moans now, the sensation is so overwhelming, and doesn’t stop crashing over him with every renewed movement Elias makes. “I don’t think I can breathe,” he says, before his face screws up in exertion and Elias presses their lips together again. 

“You’re just like a doll, Jon. Doesn’t it feel lovely to be free of thoughts and worries?” Elias speaks into Jon’s neck. “You needn’t worry about anything other than this feeling, and this present moment. You’re doing so well.” 

Jon’s still barely awake, his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he takes all of Elias, lets the action be everything he needs. It’s absolutely ethereal, the numbing sensation of Elias inside him, his mind so blank. When Elias’s hand brushes against Jon’s clit again and begins moving in languid circles again, Jon tightens every muscle he didn’t know he still had, and lets go into a swirling pool of colors and feeling and _Elias._

The feeling of his orgasm knocks all the air out of him, and he all but blacks out again. He stays conscious only until after a wet, warm feeling coats his stomach in ropes, and he blinks up at Elias a few times, each slower than the last, until all he can see is Elias’s deep, entrancing eyes, and the fractals swirling around them both. 

After a moment, he feels the couch grow lighter, then the feeling of a towel on his stomach, cleaning him gently. All Jon can focus on is the cacophony of colors that threaten to crash into him and drown him at any moment, and the knowledge that they won’t.

“There,” Elias says, breathless and pushing those same loose strands of sweat-slicked hair behind Jon’s ear again. “Now isn’t that so much better?”

Jon can only nod. The room is still spinning, it never stopped. Jon doesn’t think he wants it to. The colors are warm and comforting now, all rose and amber shades. 

“We really should do this more often,” Elias says, tucking himself back into his pants and doing his belt. “You responded so well to it.” Elias straddles him again, pulls Jon’s binder back down to cover his chest, and smooths out the sweater over his stomach. 

Something covers Jon’s torso, it’s heavy and smells almost exclusively of Elias’s scent.

“Sleep, Jon. Let it take you.”

Despite the cold blowing through the aircon, Jon feels warmer than he has in months. The colors curl around him, embracing him and lulling him into a dreamless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: elias drugs jon with a strong spiral weed strain that has hallucinogen/psychedelic effects. they kiss, jon tries his best to get elias to stop despite being high, elias ignores him. jon passes out and elias rapes him. elias touches jon's chest at one point, which jon asks him not to do. elias stops when he asked, but removes jon's binder while he is passed out and gropes him. during the intercourse jon wakes up, disoriented and still high, but not actively resisting. they both finish, after which jon falls asleep and elias covers him with a blanket. there is no aftercare. 
> 
> \---
> 
> the spiral really is good for one thing. this was a fun idea to play around with, despite ending up a bit more dark than originally intended. as is the case with fics involving elias, lol. 
> 
> title from ‘eyes on fire’ by blue foundation
> 
> thank you for reading, comments are appreciated.


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